


For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge

by jarofactonbell



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M, OT11 + taewoong, excessive exaggeration, it's cold and i have a lot of feelings, jisung is a Weak Man, more love for this pairing please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofactonbell/pseuds/jarofactonbell
Summary: Prompt #324:I get nervous and fidgety whenever you’re around- which sucks because you’re my makeup artist.Bonus: fans/staff mistaking the makeup artist as a member





	For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing and I hope those of you that read this feels a bit warmer during Christmas times (or if you're from any tropical countries of Australia, less bitter about the weather).
> 
> Title from Ruth 1:16 - And Ruth said: “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

“If you blink one more time this eyebrow pencil will go into your eyeball and not your eyebrows,” Taewoong reminds him mildly. Just mildly. Jisung eyes the eyebrow pencil in Taewoong’s grip with caution and fear, trying to get his feet to stop vibrating and his body to stop fidgeting.

After two minutes of expert manoeuvring and extending his arms for a long while, Taewoong rises up, closing his eyes. The pencil is threatening to snap in half.

“Can I just – work on someone else, now, please? I’ll get back to Jisung-ssi,” the brunette tells one of the staff who pushes Jihoon into Jisung’s seat. Jisung is herded to the couch to make more room for the other boys to get dolled up.

“How badly was he shaking?” Jihoon grins at Taewoong who heaves a sigh.

“Thank the gods that I am good enough to not poke out his eye for the last twenty minutes,” Taewoong bends down, mouth twisting aggressively.

 

Why is Yoon Jisung, leader of the nation’s boy group, a trainee for nearly ten years, at the ripe old age of 27, nervous in front of a makeup artist?

Well, let’s go back to the beginning.

 

Choi Taewoong, born in 1994, is a renowned makeup artist, on the basis that he’s male, tall and too good-looking to be drawing on people’s faces and not being drawn on. After graduating a makeup and beauty school, he worked with a few rookie groups and groups from smaller entertainment companies, at a reasonable price. Idols and agencies always need skilled makeup artists, Taewoong was freshly graduated and his grades were proof of his skills, therefore he had a regular schedule and income.

He made headlines in 2016 where at M! Countdown he was working with three groups at once who performed before NCT 127. They were dolled up, dressed well, performed well, the managers were satisfied with his work, he was done for the night. All the makeup artists were allowed two-minute intervals of break outside the waiting room in between performances of the groups, all gossiping about the up-and-about SM new rookie boy band, with promising potential. The only missing variable from the equation probably lie in the fact that their appearances were completely butchered by their stylists. Hair, clothes, makeup – all of it. When hearing the SM stylists conversed about what to dress the kids in, in a feat parallel to that of Buddha himself, Taewoong cut three corners, bumped into five security guards and nearly ran into the door of the waiting room, locked the stylists outside and manhandled all of the NCT members into reasonable clothes. Their fans outside did not expect such a chic, trendy and manly style from their idols - frankly nobody expected NCT to emerge somewhat normal, let alone sensationally fashionable. Taewoong must’ve done some fashion magic inside the waiting room, because NCT 127 emerged with mercifully no cornrows, braids or dreadlocks. Their hair was styled naturally, their clothes were easy to dance in, not too flashy but captured their boyish charms well. The makeup? Say no more. Taewoong didn’t place 4th out of a thousand makeup students to do a shabby job. There were gifs and tweets and posts about their ‘popping eye makeup’ and ‘Jaehyun’s bronzer is so well-done how do I get this shade’ and ‘Mark’s highlight is going to kill me’ and ‘their jawlines are contoured really well wtf’. The audience went mute as soon as the boys came on stage and the sound directors reportedly communicated to the rest of the staff that the volume from the audience was so loud it almost drowned out the music on stage. Many congratulations were thrown around, Taewoong’s name appeared on Naver for a week straight and he received invitations to make this and this ‘better than what you did for NCT Taewoong-ssi’.

In February 2017, he received a call from Mnet, asking if he’d like to be one of the professional stylists for the 101 trainees. The payment outlined in the contract was good, this time of the year not many groups had shoots or such, therefore he agreed.

That’s where Jisung met him.

Their first meeting set a domino effect of Jisung constantly humiliating himself in front of Taewoong. Jisung walked into the waiting room, humming Downpour under his breath, when he saw Seongwoo being forced into a headband. Trapped on a chair, one leg caging him to sit on the chair, Seongwoo floundered and yelped for help. Hyeongseob lifted one eye open, looked at the scene and went back to sleep, snuggled with the human body pillow Sungwoo.

The makeup artist tugged down one last time and Seongwoo was secured with a headband on his head, pouting.

“It makes you stand out,” the guy told him.

“I look like an idiot,” the brunette moaned.

The guy pulled out a mascara stick, “Stop whinging or I’ll paint your eyeballs instead of your lashes.”

Seongwoo looked up and saw Jisung. He braced himself for impact, seeing the blur that is Ong Seongwoo on a path of wanting to win a fight with a stylist.

 _“Hyung he’s bullying me~,”_ the boy jumped on to Jisung, swinging both of them around. Jisung mercifully grounded his feet, trying to count to ten inside his head and remembering all the breathing exercises Daniel insisted the MMO trainees did two years ago. _They’ll help with your inner peace and finding your Zen_ , he said. _Where’s my Zen now Daniel?_ He asked bitterly, trying to expunge any violent thoughts from his head.

“The makeup artist?” He said, eyes conveying the clear _please get off me._

The guy turned, rubbing a palm at his eyes. His hair was poking out of his beanie. His chin had a trail of three different shades of foundation. He wielded a mascara stick threateningly in their direction.

Jisung’s first emotion was astonishment. His second emotion was complete and utter awe that a human had succeeded in forcing something Ong Seongwoo doesn’t like onto him. His third was a mess of he-looks-like-a-mess-but-damn-I’d-tap-that-mess and I-need-my-eye-makeup-fixed-how-to-get-clingy-dongsaeng-off-me.

“Seongwoo-yah,” Jisung heaped layer upon layer into his words, of what, he’s not too sure, but it seemed to work a lot of the other times, “my performance is literally in forty-five minutes. I need to get my eye makeup fixed. We can yell at the makeup artist later after filming is done, okay?”

Seongwoo either lost interest in the entire ordeal or Jisung’s overall calming presence must’ve done justice to his reputation, but he let go easily, bouncing his way to collapse onto a passed out Sewoon on the couch.

“I think you have about forty minutes now,” the stylist reminded him mildly. Jisung almost tripped over three shoes to seat himself into the seat, chin up, eyes closed.

“Do your worst,” he tacked on.

The stylist only hummed, dipping the brush back into the mascara bottle and instructed him to open his eyes. Up close, fingers holding Jisung’s jaw to the left, the man (boy?) smelt really good.

 _Seriously Yoon Jisung what the fuck_ , a Jaehan-shaped entity nagged from his shoulder.

 _Don’t judge me I had three hours of sleep_ , he argued back.

“Yoon-ssi, am I making you nervous?” The mouth, close to his nose, curled up on the left side.

“Uh – what – I – no?” Jisung floundered, mentally, because he’s been in the business long enough to control his own body to not intrude a makeup pro at work. Eye makeup is a bitch. Good eye makeup that makes him hot when he’s not takes an infinite amount of patience and the time it takes cheese to age.

“Your leg is tapping,” a leg nudged his. Jisung didn’t notice the regular rhythm underfoot but it ceased after he put his foot down.

“Oh,” he whispered, “okay then.”

“I don’t normally work around this area and I get that you’re nervous I’m a new makeup artist, but please trust me because you have half an hour more and I need to get you screen exposure to advertise my handiwork.”

Jisung snorted, the sound unattractive and reminiscent of a time when Minhyun made a terrible joke and he ran out of nice leadership vibes by that point, snorting in disbelief, with an unimpressed tilt to his eyebrow, astonished that anyone could ever uttered those words. Minhyun, whipped by the backlash of a hyung who everyone assumed is kind and gentle in his DNA wiring, gaped for a whole minute straight and collapsed in a wheezing laugh. Jisung tried to not let this sound resurface ever since seeing as he broke three kids already and it doesn’t help his gentle leader image.

“I trust you,” Jisung closed his eyes at the close proximity of the mascara brush.

“There’s a but,” the guy hummed.

“I don’t know if there is a but.”

“You can’t just trust me straight off the bat you’ve never seen me before.”

“Weren’t you that guy who broke the audience at M! Countdown?” Someone asked. It sounded like Euiwoong.

“You did what?” Jisung hit something. A soft grunt of pain and endurance. “Oops. You did what?”

“Yes, for NCT. Their makeup up to that point was atrocious,” the guy sighed, “like fucking hell, if I see one more cornrow I will snap a brush.”

 _Snap a brush_ in the fashion and beauty industry must be the equivalent of _whoop a bastard_. Preferably over the head with a brush. One of those heavy spiky ones.

“You broke the audience though. I think that alone speaks for your abilities. Mnet doesn’t enlist shabby makeup artists. Plus no one can break my image like I had on the first day with the auntie’s lipstick,” Jisung peaked an eye open.

“I’m sorry your what?”

And there’s a pencil close to his eye. Too close.

“Uh,” his eye zeroed in on the tip. Something like _please stop threatening my eyesight_ left his lungs and crawled out his nose, because the makeup artist pulled away, apologised with no sincerity in his voice and grabbed his jaw, tilting his face up.

Jisung’s arm flailed and knocked onto the man’s elbow. Nothing dropped, although the guy keeled a bit as his knee went up, hitting the place where it would hurt the most on a guy’s body.

“Just a contour for your face and you’re good to go, Yoon-ssi,” the voice was even.

Jisung admired the guy, whoever he is. He knew enough of bullshitting through life to hear the hidden pain under the layers of professionalism. He hoped staying still and not breathing counted as a legit apology.

Euiwoong was laughing and pointing from the side. The disrespect of these kids.

The fingers left his face and Jisung reared back, trying to get his heart to stay still. Hashing out breaths that were totally unnecessary for being in close contact with a makeup artist, albeit an extremely good-looking one, he searched for non-existent dust or tasks to complete, not making eye contact.

 

That failed.

Miserably.

Like all of his life attempts.

 

“Yoon-ssi,” a palm against his Adam’s apple, thumb and forefinger against his jaw, tilting his face up to dark eyes. “I smudged something.”

Jisung commended himself on communicating on the whole of that night without verbalising actual words. A personal talent acquired worthy of variety shows themselves. What escaped the insides of his throat was no longer a human noise – there was a snort, Jisung stewed, embittered – but the makeup artist, too professional or very motivated by money, polished Jisung’s face one last time and let him go.

 

He tripped over two chairs in what Seongwoo later described as ‘hyung’s panicked chicken dash’. Daniel told him not to bully him while Jisung exercised his Disappointed In All That You Said face. Seongwoo was too immune to it, trying to re-enact how he fled the scene.

 

“My name is Choi Taewoong,” the guy told him.

 

Jisung screamed. It was probably not internal.

 

 

 

It essentially snowballed from that point onwards. Taewoong did such an amazing job on Hands on Me, which secured the majority of the lineup for the Wanna One members, that YMC permanently contracted him as the official makeup crew for the duration of this project group. The next times they meet, absolutely by no prior excessive social media stalking on Jisung’s end (maybe a little, but he’s a whipped and gone man and God forgive his sins), he continuously made a fool of himself.

It was for their debut MV. The filming site, an hour before the actual filming started, housed 11 unstable boys. Guan Lin saw the donuts in the bathtub and successfully nicked ten with Jinyoung’s help. Minhyun was in a trance, repeating lyrics even in his sleep after someone ~~Woojin~~ knocked him out ~~with a bat~~. Sungwoon and Seongwoo broke two shopping trolleys intended for the set, swinging and running with them and at them. A very tired and worn out Yoon Jisung was trying to talk Jihoon out of literally smashing the piano to pieces. After sending the boy away to donut pilfering, a much safer and less costly alternative to keyboard smashing, he heard Jaehwan’s cries for help and choking sounds. Jisung, being who he is, thought Jaehwan was dying and jumped over an Ong rolling on the ground.

 “Hyung he’s trying to,” cough, “kill me!” Jaehwan flailed and tried to pinch someone. The makeup artist manoeuvred with no difficulty, hoodie drawn over his face, hands full of a foundation container. The content was just golden foundation powder.

“Uh,” Jisung’s finger hovered weirdly in the air, brain already worked out that Jaehwan appeared to not be dying. A set of wheels careening over pebbly grounds passed by. The camera director started hurling insults at Sungwoon and Seongwoo.

“You’re not dying,” he settled on, “stay still so the artist can finish your face up quickly.”

“He’s a demon!” The vocalist wailed, “he’s demanding blood sacrifices!”

“I asked, may I say, nicely, if you would like a rouge tint on your lips, not blood,” a too familiar voice drawled, mockery heavy on his tongue.

“You’re probably anaemic as well, so it wouldn’t work out,” Jihoon who joined them from somewhere, hanging off Jisung’s left shoulder, pointed at Jaehwan. “Too pale. No blood.”

Before Jaehwan can throw a fit on how he’s unjustly being harassed, Choi Taewoong moved so fast that by the time the singer’s screech of ‘Unhand me you barbarian!’ it’s done with a nicely made-up face with unblemished rouge.

“Impressive,” Jihoon whistled. “Can you teach me that?”

“After the filming, Jihoon-ah,” Taewoong probably smiled, “here to have your makeup done, Yoon-ssi?”

He wasn’t listening. Jihoon coughed in his ear, something that sounded like ‘Yoon-ssi’. Taewoong’s hood fell off, with a surprisingly bare and makeup-free face.

Jisung opened his mouth to explain himself, the universe, why people are attractive – any of the above, but his jaw just hung loose, rendering his image to be something close to a llama chewing on very tough grass. Their group chat had this exact face as their icon for two weeks straight. People made memes off it. To show such a visage would be destroying any potential chances with – what no – make a terrible second impression.

Second impressions are things that exist because Jisung made it so. It’s foolish to even be surprised at this point at how good Taewoong looks. He looks majestic with makeup on. There should be some natural beauty lying underneath to make that happens. Here it is before his eyes and Jisung hates himself for looking ugly.

 _You should close your mouth before you swallow flies_ , a wise voice inside his head reminded him. It sounded like Guan Lin.

 _You are a baby Linnie-yah, please stop giving me life advice inside my head,_ he snarks back.

Jisung closed his mouth and searched for an eloquent starting sentence but was interrupted by a shout.

“Filming’s starting!” Daehwi called for them, waving and pointing at the director and his moving giant camera. _Come before you’re killed_ , he widened his eyes.

“Maybe another time, Taewoong-hyung,” Jihoon bowed to him and pulled Jisung mercifully away.

 

“Jisung-ssi,” he heard, “it’s nice to see you again as well.”

 

(“You know what you are hyung? Whipped. Whipped cream. More than Woojinnie. And that guy is whipped. As.”

“Shut up Babyface Hoon no one asked for your opinions”.)

 

 

“Eunhye,” Jisung can hear Taewoong orders, “finish up Jisung-ssi’s makeup. I’m checking on the dancers.”

It’s safe to say that Jisung is still as intimidated by Taewoong as ever. It manifests itself into a nervous tic whenever Taewoong is in makeup vicinity. Most of the time he can control it, but recently the makeup artist had attained a habit of bodily stopping him from fidgeting, ranging from putting a hand on his shoulder to putting a knee on his tapping thigh to that one time he pushed Jisung’s thighs apart, stood in between his legs and got really close to his face. That – the kids still bag him about it. Woojin played the jump scare soundtrack from Scream on loop. Jinyoung taped the photo of that shook meme onto his bed post. He caught glimpses of Guan Lin imitating his reaction in the dorm at least twice.

 

Eunhye, the other makeup artist, looks at Jisung with a mix of pity and slight judgement, brush already working on his face. Jisung tries to formulate a plan on How to get Over Your Irrational Fear of Someone Attractive. Nothing is coming up. He doesn’t trust the other boys to suggest anything, knowing the scope of their intelligence and perspectives on romance – wait no friendship. Focus on friendship Yoon Jisung.

 

Ah ha! What else should one do except be upfront! Brilliant!

He decides to just go for it.

 

Finding Choi Taewoong isn’t a hard task. Talking to him is.

Jisung’s been hovering around the area the guy is in for about ten minutes. In that span of time he could’ve gone over Energetic three times.

Jisung is still struggling to string basic sentences together when Taewoong whips around, sees him and promptly kicks the chair he’s been sitting on because of how fast he stood up.

“Jisung!” He claps both hands on Jisung’s shoulders who’s still processing what is happening and why is it happening to him. “Ssi. I meant, Jisung, ssi.”

“He – hello?” He staggers back, “hi?”

“Just the person I needed!”

Jisung twitches, violently, under Taewoong’s tight grip. “What?”

“It’s like I summoned you!”

“Taewoong you’re not explaining anything to me and I’m confused,” _terrified more like_ , he wants to add, _but let’s not focus on that right now._ Sentences. Jisung is a miracle.

“I need to try out a new eyeshadow palette and there’s no volunteer, but you’re here and it’s convenient, so please help a poor man out.”

“Uh – sure?”

He’s shoved into a chair and Taewoong hovers in front of him, brush and a palette open.

“Breathe, Jisung-ssi,” there’s a laugh hidden behind the closed lips of the man with the bright eyes above him. He forces out a breath. It doesn’t sound like much – a bit like breathing after two minutes of intensive running.

“Your skin is so much nicer nowadays,” Taewoong murmurs, leaning down to stare directly at him, his eyelashes, something. “Even though it’s shit. You’re a literal walking zombie.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your eyebags are heavier than my students’ debt and my students’ debt is a lot,” he wrinkles his nose, “why won’t this stupid company let you sleep?”

“Who needs sleep when you can make money,” Jisung mumbles, remembering that he is so tired, “the sad reality of showbiz and the idol life.”

“You can nap. I need your eyes closed anyways,” the sound of a brush dabbing onto the palette. “Thanks Jisung-ssi.”

“Call me hyung. You’re like Sungwoonie’s age. I feel so old when you tack a -ssi onto my name.”

“I don’t know hyung, if I call you hyung you’ll actually break down in front of my eyes, so I don’t wanna take that chance.”

Jisung makes a noise which he hopes convey many things but he’s trying to navigate between trying to locate the whereabouts of his heart and verbalising thoughts. Either Taewoong has grown accustomed to the gibberish that Jisung seems to consistently spout whenever they’re in close contact all the fucking time or he’s too transfixed on the art of the eyeshadow to pay attention to Jisung’s monkey babble.

“Stay still I want a photo,” the makeup artist pushes him back.

“Ya, I’m older,” he protests, weakly, because he’s running on three hours of sleep and his nerves are jittery and prone to breakdowns, “and delicate.”

“Yoon-ssi I need a photo be kind to me too,” a camera shutter. Jisung groans in weak despair. Familiar fingers under his chin, on his jaw. He lifts his head up in instinct, not opening his eyes. A hand on his knee to stop his tapping leg. Thumb on both his closed eyes. Jisung is probably no longer breathing.

“Okay, all good, thanks for freezing up I have enough photos to last me until your next concert,” Jisung opens his eyes to Taewoong, mercifully quite a bit of a distance away from him, dusting glitter off himself and squinting at his phone’s screen.

They both make direct eye contact at the same time and he is granted a single thumb up with an impassive face.

“Taewoong-ah,” this courage is unheard of from Yoon Jisung, weak in front of hot men, “can we make this a regular thing?”

Taewoong squints. “If you want? Like I said, you were conveniently here, that’s why I asked. You don’t have to consistently be here.”

“I want to.”

Taewoong lifts a single eyebrow, face in-between astounded and impressed with Jisung’s rare bursts if bravery. Seeing how much his hands are shaking, he nods, pulling the strings of his hoodie closer around his face.

“I’m not stopping or forcing you. When I need someone to draw on I’ll find you? That good with you?”

He manages a nod, which is in no way shaky or trying to reassure the guy in front of him that he is fine. He’s fine. Probably.

“You can go, hyung, I’m not stopping you.”

“Oh yeah,” the chair skids, “see you later?”

A hum and a hand over a shoulder.

 

A week later there is an eye palette with a lily stem on his bed. The security guard doesn’t tell him anything when he pesters them, only telling him to ‘open the present Jisung-ah and see for yourself.’

There’s a photo of him, eyes shut, one lid coloured purple and orange while the other shades of brown and blue run rampant across his skin.

A note.

_It’s a good look. I look forward to testing out more things on you._

He doesn’t expect it to become a pattern, but it does. Jinyoung sees him leaving at oddly specific time slots every fortnight to the company building, sometimes even to a café. Daniel doesn’t say anything, more out of fear of the sheer amount of dirt Jisung collected off Daniel’s drunk and sleep-talking ass than any actual love or respect. The rest of them seem to not care enough to get involved, whatever ‘thing’ is going on with him and the makeup artist, to Sungwoon’s words. He’s insulted. His blossoming friendship with Choi Taewoong, a fine specimen of the male subcategory of the human species, should be deemed more than a mere ‘thing’. There is a relationship, somewhat, in Jisung’s consistent fumbling, notably less, around Taewoong. He’s brave enough to unleash the snark in him that he has to hide on camera, to Taewoong’s surprise and absolute delight. Apparently he prefers ‘hyung like this’, whatever that means.

But this week, this week is hell. They have photoshoots left, right, bottom, inside their shoes and outside of their mirrors. One time he saw Jihoon staring at the fridge at 2 in the morning, just staring at the handle. After much herding and threatening, Jihoon, who revealed that he came back from a commercial, knocked out cold on top of some unidentified child’s bed, but it’s 2 and Jisung needs the bare 3 hours to function. He himself had been interviewed and driven to a myriad of locations that his whereabouts blend into one big bowl of gibberish and insanity, with a nice touch of screaming children.

He’s trying to search for his phone where Daehwi is skipping to where he’s sitting, arm linked with another friend he made backstage.

“Hyungie, hyungie! I solved your problem!” The purple-haired child flaps his hands frantically.

“What problem?” He’s looking through his script, rummaging through someone’s bag and maintaining three conversations at the same time. Multitasking isn’t even a talent in the entertainment world – it’s a skill. Jisung has gotten an uncanny knack of talking to any of the boys while doing something else and not miss any major detail. While Daehwi is doing an interesting interpretative dance out of the corner of his eyes to convey a verbal conversation, he’s going through his lines. Whatever Daehwi deems important can wait two more minutes.

“You know, your fortnight date with Tae-hyung. I’m free now, I’ll fill in your spot.”

 

Jisung’s stack of papers nearly fall apart because of how fast he turns in the chair.

_“My what with who?”_

Taewoong gives a wave, elbow imprisoned by Daehwi who acts like the solution to every question in this situation is solved upon seeing his face, which would work in any other situation without Yoon Jisung or Choi Taewoong in the same vicinity.

“I’m not busy now? He can test it on me? You go and be annoying with Jinyoungie and co, I’ll be fine,” he vehemently refuses the offer. He stares at Daehwi, wide and ridiculous, in hope that he hears the unspoken plea.

_Please let my horrible flirting attempts happen without your interference I love you but let me ruin this myself._

“I really don’t mind who it is,” Taewoong shrugs.

“You fucking cheater,” Jisung squints at him.

“Are you sure? I am very free. I’m so free I could do Burn it up three times over and I’ll still be free,” Daehwi offers, unhelpfully. Taewoong detaches himself and brings out his kit, ears not listening to their bickering. Daehwi grabs his shoulders, stares him dead in the eye, mouths something and sprints off, cackling.

Jisung’s ears colour bright red.

“Is it too hot inside?” Taewoong asks, brush in both hands, “your ears red.”

“I’m fine. Dab me with your powder.”

 

_Hyung you’re so obvious it’s cute. Call me when you do date._

 

“Uh,” Daniel looks at all of them. All of them.

“Ten, eleven, twelve?” Guan Lin does a head count, blinks and starts counting in Mandarin. Woojin has resorted to his fingers and there are tally marks going around.

“Explain to me,” Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose, _“why are you here, Choi Taewoong?”_

Taewoong waves, dressed in similar Wanna One fashion, brilliantly decked out in tight leather pants and a floral choker that should not work on anyone’s neck but strangely, by sorcery and the dark arts, works wonders on the column of his throat. His hair is styled, his makeup golden and they are two minutes away from being released onstage.

“The staff thought I was one of you,” he shrugs, shaking a single styled strand of hair out of his eye.

 _“They worked with us. They know there are eleven of us. They know our faces. They know us so well this situation doesn’t make sense. They even know Daniel’s cousin’s third child, on his mum’s side.”_ Jisung cannot encompass the sheer incredulity this situation propositions the tone of voice he can project. Jihoon already is directing him from the back to breathe in and out, eyes wide and doe-like to the maximum effect of distracting him.

It doesn’t work that well because the stage is open for them to walk out and it’s too late. No return. They will have to perform with an extra member. Tonight will be a time bomb ticking its way to destruction, of their collective fame and reputation.

God give him strength.

 

“Choi Taewoong is a fucking liar,” Seongwoo, one arm freed from his shirt, choker hanging off one ear, head pressed on Daniel’s lap, points vaguely to where Taewoong is rubbing makeup off Jinyoung.

“You sly asshole,” Sungwoon pipes up, just to back Seongwoo up.

“I travel with you lot, shouldn’t it make sense if I know some of your choreo by now?” Taewoong replies without turning away from Jinyoung’s jaw.

“Some, he said,” Jisung mimics, “you know all of our choreo. You know it better than me. I’m _in_ this group.”

“Hyung was that a lowkey diss or a lowkey compliment I’m not too sure,” Daniel asks.

“I don’t know Geonie, probably both,” he throws up one hand, the other cradling Daehwi’s head, who’s browsing Twitter.

“That’s because I taught him the choreography,” Woojin sniffs, affronted that no one thought of the possibility of a makeup artist learning to dance, “he’s great at it. More than most. Easier to teach. More than most.”

Everyone in the room tries not to look at Jaehwan.

“Why don’t you hire a fireworks crew and have them emblazon across the Seoul sky KIM JAEHWAN IS SHIT AT LEARNING DANCES punk?”

Woojin pulls out his phone and Minhyun reports that he is indeed looking up how to hire a fireworks crew for a cheap price. Jaehwan attempts to lunge at the child, with Guan Lin holding him back loosely and disinterestedly.

“Please don’t fight I haven’t seen the fancam of tonight yet I don’t want to referee your boxing match before I do,” Daehwi puts a hand up. Jisung peeks at the screen and the influx of comments of _who is the twelfth member_ are trending 3 rd on Twitter worldwide.

“Tae-hyungie,” Daehwi grins, “you can always join Wanna One. It’s never too late. If you learn faster than Jae-hyung there’s definitely a lot of potential within your tall giraffe self.”

“Think he can just join now. The staff didn’t recognise that he’s a makeup artist. The fans didn’t notice that he’s not a Wanna One member until like the end of the concert. Woongie this is meant to be you gotta postpone makeup the people will understand,” Sungwoon appeals.

“This is your _path_ , your _destiny_ , hyung,” Daehwi says.

“I think I’m good, boys. It’s one time. It won’t happen again. I’m not that close to you guys to be mistaken as a member a second time,” Taewoong waves it aside, laughing. He sounds flattered.

 

Of course, as all things, he’s fucking wrong.

It happened three more times until their dance teacher could be seen going through the steps with Taewoong after Wanna One’s practice. There is an established fanbase for Taewoong, nicknamed the Artistes. Hosts ask about him. Staff are genuinely surprised when informed that he is indeed not a member of Wanna One people just think he is.

 

One thing never changes -  Jisung is still fidgeting around him. It’s only borderline humiliating by now. People bag him for it. The memes run amok and everywhere in the dorm and in the company building. At least three people crowd around Taewoong doing Jisung’s makeup to witness the phenomenon that is Jisung Being Fidgety, Unheard And Unseen Of Anywhere Else. Taewoong has taken to leaning obscenely close to his face and the occasional one hand on his knee, face too close to his. Jisung can probably control how hard and fast his leg seems to be tapping away to oblivion but not his heart. The pulse of the damn organ travels from his chest to his fingertips and toes and he’s pretty sure everybody can hear how loud his breathing is when stupid Choi Taewoong with his bright eyes and hooked nose is up his face.

If Taewoong heard anything he didn’t make any comments. Knowing Jisung’s weak heart and adherence to routine, he doesn’t break any of their pattern, pretending to not see Jisung falling apart in front of his eyes. He’s chivalrous like that.

They’ve sneaked off into the streets of Hongdae to buy snacks for the kids. At some point Taewoong is walking too close to him and he veers very close to a shop window. It’s a cold night, winter’s wind blowing. The shop sells warm coffee with stuffed animal decorations. There’s a sizeable golden retriever that he knows Jihoon and Guan Lin will fight to the death over. He discreetly checks the cash in his wallet. Not enough for two. He then goes over the pros and cons of using his card where people might recognise it and start asking for photos at deadass 1 in the morning.

“Hyung let’s go in,” Taewoong pushes him inside, hand on his back. Jisung shivers, probably from the cold but most likely from the physical contact.

The warm air inside washes over him. He goes to order, takeaway coffee cups for twenty sleep-deprived people drawing at the end of their contract. No cameras are around to capture the sheer chaos that is boys sleeping on very small beds together and going everywhere together. Sungwoon himself cried everyday at least once for the last two months. Daehwi refused to leave Guan Lin’s side and Jinyoung became Minhyun’s permanent body extension. Jisung had been sleeping in the lounge where two children flank his sides every night for the last six months. The staff had been overtly generous, buying meat and giving them days off as they can. The word ‘disbandment’ is forbidden inside their dorm, notoriously making the entire maknae line cry in the one time.

“Studying for a test?” The barista asks him, gesturing to the twenty cups of pure caffeinated joys.

“And we haven’t slept for like, three days. Someone collapsed today,” Jisung shrugs, swiping his card.

“I hope you all will be alive tomorrow!” The girl waves. Jisung bows to her, mask pulled closer to his mouth.

Outside Choi Taewoong has a sack over his shoulder and a scarf around his neck, in substitution for a face mask. It was a present from Jaehwan, mediated after the blood-sucking incident and can be seen as the annoying one bugging Taewoong about makeup. He offers an elbow for Jisung who mindlessly takes it, walking back to the bus station.

 

He blames it on not sleeping enough because he spends too much time talking to Seongwoo last night about what they’ll do post-Wanna One. The bus rhythmically bounces back to his dorm and he’s too tired to keep a conversation going with Taewoong. The bright city lights in the midst of the incoming winter is lonely, just as they’ll be in two months or so. He probably cries in his nap, sniffing grossly.

 

He hears something in the distant.

_“Hyung, when Wanna One is no more I’ll follow you wherever you go.”_

In the future, maybe they’ll hang out inside a BBQ restaurant, all of them grown up and taller, eyes a bit duller from pursuing a dream in this field but still bright. Their shoulders will be cramped next to someone else’s arm but there will be too much smiling to notice this discomfort. Maybe they will all stay brothers, the bonds of friendship too distant to name their relationship and they will continue to stay that way. Maybe in Jisung’s hand there will be 11 more, holding onto it wherever he goes. And maybe, just maybe, when he looks behind him there are bright eyes looking at him.

But he’ll deal with that when he wakes up.

_“_ _And Ruth said: “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that it's terrible I wrote 4000 words in two days with four hours of sleep because of 1) me as a person, a procrastinator and 2) I had too many ideas and I am too perfectionistic to let it go.
> 
> Please accept my apologies.


End file.
